


I'll Write You An IOU

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Newt Unmasking Grindelwald, Percival and Newt Saving Each Other, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: When Percival wakes up and sees a different ceiling than the dark, blood splattered one of his prison for the first time in three months, his first thought is,I’m going to owe Newt the biggest IOU ever.Or: Percival Graves and Newt Scamander have been saving each other in turns for years. So, really, Newt revealing Grindelwald is just another Wednesday in his book.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elletromil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/gifts).



> I have to admit, when I first saw Fantastic Beasts I didn't actually walk out with any ships, because I became a fan of HP before I started writing fanfic or shipping people. And then I was browsing through my darling [Elletromil](http://http://elletromil.tumblr.com/)'s tumblr and then I accidentally slipped and fell into the Gramander ship and now, well. Here I am. Aka IT'S ALL ELLE'S FAULT.
> 
> I drew inspiration for this fic from two of my new favorite Gramander fics: 1) [Matchmaker, Matchmaker](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8879488) by [prosodiical](https://prosodiical.tumblr.com/) and 2) [Attachment Issues](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9181330?view_full_work=true) by [Elenothar](http://elenothar.tumblr.com/). If you haven't read those two works I highly recommend them.

**1\. Newt**

The first time Newt Scamander meets Percival Graves, he’s having an allergic reaction to giggle water. 

(Later on, Theseus will adamantly tell every single person that the “allergic reaction” was Newt having absolutely no tolerance at all to any kind of drink, but to be fair, it wasn’t like Theseus was exactly the soberest person there either, so his recollection is definitely biased.)

He’s giggling so much, in fact, that he starts to feel nauseous, except he can’t stop giggling and then he can’t stop worrying over being nauseous and everyone knowing he’s nauseous but that embarrassment just makes him giggle more, and the cycle becomes so vicious that his laughter becomes more and more high-pitched until he’s almost laughed himself into a true and total panic attack.

A panic attack, by the way, which is not at all helped by one of Theseus’s Auror buddies leaning over and trying to push another drink in his hand, slobbering all over Newt’s shoulder.

And then, like a miracle from the gods, a man with the fiercest frown Newt’s ever seen on a thoroughly sloshed person appears abruptly over Newt’s shoulder, elbowing the other Auror back with a combination of what looks like wandless magic and a good old-fashioned death glare. He even swipes the drink away, careless and uncaring, and settles at Newt’s side like a giant glaring nundu. 

“Knock it off, Piers,” the man says sharply, and his words blur together but his eyes are somehow mostly sharp. 

Piers groans piteously, as though the man had shone a light in his eyes. “I was just playing, Graves, seriously. You Americans.”

Theseus chooses that moment to finally burp and remind everyone of his presence. “That American,” he declares loudly, “saved your arse today, Piers. Shall we have another rendition of how you nearly ended up floating upside by the string of your trousers?”

Piers has never been kind to Newt. Partly, Newt understands; they’re not all formal Aurors yet, but war has hardened all of them in different ways, and Piers, in his own strange way, thinks it better to either drive Newt off to be rid of him or thicken his skin. He’s trying, Newt knows, to be kind. Unfortunately, the method leaves a little – okay, a lot – to be desired. Newt’s never done well adapting under peer pressure.

Graves, though. Graves is new. He’s an American, doing some kind of exchange between MACUSA and the Ministry, and all Newt really knows about him is that he and Theseus have been exchanging more and more pointedly friendly letters, as if trying to show off without showing off.

Still. For a very drunk man, Graves is pretty good at remaining in control of his facilities. And he smells really nice, actually, like chocolate and spice and fresh clothes and – 

“You know,” Graves says mildly, and his voice is muffled, “if you wanted to bury your giggles away you could have really just covered your head with your arms.”

Oh. Right.

He really shouldn’t be burying his face in Graves’s shoulder. That would explain why he smells so strong.

Newt tries to apologize, but he’s still hiccupping and giggling so he’s really not sure what comes out. Thankfully, Graves seems to understand, or maybe he’s also too drunk to really care, but he just sort of sighs and shrugs his body in a weird way that lets Newt press even closer to hide his slowly fading giggles, and afterwards Newt just lies close, feeling drained and safe and warm, even though he knows nothing at all at Graves, really.

Newt does, however, have excellent instincts. They’ve made him a name taming the creatures drawn to the horrors of war, and those instincts right now tell him Graves is a good man.

Graves even does him and Theseus a solid by being the only one of the three of them who can stand still long enough to Apparate them home. Newt, of course, repays this by immediately vomiting all over Graves’s clothes.

“I – I’m so – sorry – I didn’t – I mean, I did, but – ”

“Kid,” Graves interrupts, looking faintly amused. He waves one hand and half the mess is gone, and seriously, Newt shouldn’t be that impressed by the wandless nonverbal magic since Theseus does it all the damn time, but he still can’t help but stare, endlessly fascinated. “Seriously, it’s fine. Go to sleep. You look like hell.”

“Hell is a truly interesting subject actually,” Newt interrupts, because he’s read a lot of things and now he’s all keyed up and he can’t stop.

Theseus groans from where he’s face-planted in the nearest chair. “Graves. Go. Away.”

“Some grateful friend you are.”

“You got Newt. Started. Now he won’t. Shut up. Leave.”

Newt doesn’t really remember what happens next, but when he wakes up the next morning, he’s neatly tucked into the sofa with a thick blanket over him and a hangover cure potion on the stand, so he figures Graves was sober enough to get home in one piece considering that the only other person in the flat right now is a loudly snoring Theseus.

He writes his first letter to Graves that morning, surrounded by the scent of Grave’s touch on his skin and Grave’s magic all around him.

_Consider this an IOU,_ Newt finally settles on sending, since he doesn’t really have enough money on him to enclose it and he doesn’t know how much those shoes and pants cost. The Graves are an old Wizarding family, pureblood and steeped in tradition, and Graves has talent in spades, but that doesn’t mean he lacks in money or connections.

Graves never does write back. 

**2\. Percival**

It’s the first time Percival’s seen Newt Scamander in years, and yet somehow he hasn’t changed even the littlest bit, still as scrawny and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he had been all those years ago, giggling his head off and then hanging off of Percival’s shoulder as though Percival was his new teddy niffler.

Of course, at this moment in time, Percival really doesn’t have the time to appreciate it, mostly anxiety is making his hands twitch and he’s barely restraining himself from unleashing his magic all over the place, so Newt’s first impression of Percival after so many years is Percival almost wearing a hole in their kitchen, pacing back and forth and struggling so hard not to whip out of his wand and Apparate away by pretending there’s a crisis at work.

“Um.” Newt blinks at him, half dressed, hair everywhere, and wand sticking out of his back pocket. “Hi?”

Percival grunts and turns around to pace some more.

“You, uh. Theseus let you in?”

“No, I just blew open your door,” Percival snaps before he can help himself. 

Becoming an Auror involves a lot of self-examination. After all, it’s foolhardy to hire people to protect others from the worst dregs of society if they themselves aren’t fully aware of how terrible they can be. One of Percival’s greatest weaknesses in his temper, right next to his pride, and it’s that knowledge that allows him to take a deep breath, comb back his hair, and relax his shoulders before he accidentally blows a hole in the wall like he hasn’t done since he was a temper-tantrum-throwing teenager.

“Newt. Sorry.”

Newt yawns and shrugs. “S’okay, Theseus has said worse.”

“Still.”

Newt scrubs at his eyes, and somewhere from deep in Percival’s chest he feels fondness welling up. There’s at least a decade between them, and he can’t help but feel fond of this man, who Theseus equally gushes and moans over in every single letter he sends. 

“What’s got you all worked up?” Newt says between mumbles.

Percival’s hands twitch again. He’s really got to get that tic under control. “Your parents, they, um. They invited me to come for dinner.”

That, at least, gets Newt’s full and undivided attention, and this time it’s Percival who averts his eyes from that bright, focused gaze that is currently in the middle of cataloguing each out-of-control hair and the mud on the hem of his robes and the way his hands are _still_ twitching, damn it.

“You tried to buy them a gift.”

Percival doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really need to; Newt’s already on a role.

“And then you thought it wasn’t enough, so now you’ve got yourself in a tangle trying to figure if or what to bring,” Newt continues. “And now you’re pacing a hole in out floor debating whether or not to ask for my help.”

It’s like all the tension was a balloon in his chest, struggling to break through the prison of his rib cage, and Newt’s words have popped the balloon so now that air goes whooshing out of his chest in one big exhale that leaves him unsteady and tired as he leans against the table for support. It really has been a long time since he’s properly slept.

“Come here, you,” Newt says, full of that same fondness, and Percival isn’t really a hugging person but for Newt, he thinks, he could make an exception. 

Newt is still twitchy when they go outside to the shops, but Percival is a fully trained Auror in his own right, and he’ll be damned if anyone gets too close to his best friend’s brother given the things Theseus has confided to him over long nights at work, so in the end they make their purchases and Apparate him without any major incidents. The whole Newt-befriending-a-werecat notwithstanding of course, although Percival does decline from petting it the way Newt is unabashedly doing so right now.

“She’s really friendly, I promise.”

“I’m good,” Percival says, eyeing the werecat from across the room. It’s not like he’s one hundred percent sure that she’ll disembowel him, but he’s also not one hundred percent sure she _won’t_ , so he figures he’ll just play it safe and stay away for now.

Newt shrugs, not seeming to mind as the werecat drapes herself around Newt’s shoulders like a particularly fluffy black scarf, purring the whole way. “Suit yourself.”

Newt’s parents love the gifts.

Percival leaves a note, a simple _I’ll owe you one_ , and he knows Newt will know exactly what he means.

**3\. Newt**

Theseus asking for Newt’s permission to allow Percival Graves, of all people, to crash on their sofa is so unusual that Newt actually stops mid-spell and does a full 180-degree turn to stare at his brother. Yes, they don’t see Percival _often_ , as Percival and Theseus are currently engaged in a race to see who gets the highest positions the fastest in their respective departments of Magical Security and Magical Law Enforcement, but still – Percival and Theseus have been friends for ages, and it’s not like he’s a stranger to Newt either.

“Why do you need my permission?” Newt asks blankly. Percival even is well aware of Newt’s predilection for adopting magical creatures, so it’s not even like it would be a new thing for him to wake up with a creature sitting on his chest. 

Theseus makes a face. “He’s in a . . . rough place,” Theseus answers slowly, as if Newt didn’t already know that Aurors’ jobs take their toll on the people who answer the call. 

“Someone died. On a raid.”

Newt winces in sympathy. Percival is great at putting up a cold front and having a commanding presence. He’d seen the man duel and fight in the war; if Newt is a tornado, running in at high speed and sending everything in disorganized chaos, Percival is a tsunami, powerful and dedicated and focused enough to batter all of his obstacles and enemies into submission. Yet he’s an Auror because he cares, he _cares_ so much, about MACUSA and his fellow witches and wizards and especially the ones he works with. Newt had never met Percival the first time he lost a hippogriff filly he was tending to, but he can imagine Percival’s pain, and he can imagine exactly how Percival is handling it.

“Let him in,” Newt says, and Theseus gives him a solemn nod.

Percival is a growling, grumpy, smelly drunk when Theseus wrestles him into their flat, and he’s so combative Theseus nearly glues him to the couch with magic. As it is, his eyes are bloodshot and his hands are trembling and he’s got what looks like half a week’s worth of scruff on his face. He alternates between spitting fire (sometimes literally) and staring blankly at the ceiling, angry and despairing in turns.

“I should’ve, I should’ve done _something_ ,” he repeats, over and over again, even though Newt coaxes the story out and even he can’t see anything else Percival could have done.

“Everyone dies,” Newt says, because it was a common refrain among the Aurors during the war.

“She shouldn’t have. She was – god, she just started, Newt, she _just started_ , it was supposed to be a damn milk run, and then, and then – ” Percival shudders, nearly spilling tea everywhere, and Newt can’t help the way he leans close, unable to offer anything to this poor man but the reminder of human companionship and human touch. “She was just – she was gone, and there was blood everywhere, and I couldn’t – I couldn’t save her.”

Newt wants to say, _I’m sorry._

Newt wants to say, _There was nothing you could have done._

Newt wants to say, _Sometimes, people die._

Instead, he says, “I found a niffler.”

Percival does spill tea then, and his hand wave is so haphazard he ends up causing the curtains to twitch and whoosh instead of actually cleaning up the mess. Aurors and wandless magic.

Still, Newt continues on calmly about the niffler, explaining how he found him and how they’ve come to a sort of grudging coexistence and all the things he’s learning, and Percival never was Newt’s biggest fan, but he knows what happens when someone feels like the world is choking and closing in on them, and anything else is a breath of fresh air to remind them that the world is still the same as it always was. Eventually, slowly, his hands stop twitching and his shoulders start smoothing out, and by the time Newt’s started pondering and musing over potential habitats to release his rehabilitated niffler in, Percival is dozing, mouth slack and eyes closed.

Newt covers him with a blanket, leaves some hangover cure potion on the table, and goes to bed.

He wakes up to Percival awake and alert and mostly in one piece, which is all good, except for the fact that he is made aware to this by Percival shouting at the top of his lungs and the sounds of objects crashing against the wall.

It turns out Percival _had_ slept through most of his lecture about the niffler, and they spend a shameful three hours trying to get Percival’s pocket watch back from the damn creature as it scuttles and squeaks and flees all over the flat with two fully grown and fully trained wizards scrambling after it.

Afterwards, when Newt’s shut the niffler in his bedroom and shamefacedly returned the watch, Percival sprawls in the nearest chair, panting and clothes all askew.

“I’ll owe you one?” Newt offers sheepishly.

Percival glares at him, but the glare has very little power, because they both know it’s gotten Percival thoroughly distracted from his grief, and he’s now awake and clear-headed and coherent again.

On his next birthday, Percival sends a gift because he’s too buried in work to come in person, but Newt’s totally okay with that, mostly because the gift consists of something Percival apparently confiscated from an illegal animal breeder: a suitcase with an embarrassing gluttony of undetectable expansion charms and a nice round nest for the niffler already started.

**4\. Percival**

If there’s one thing that Percival hates the most, it’s getting sick. 

There’s also, of course, paperwork and stupid criminals and incompetent, butt kissing people, but being sick is definitely up there, because Percival literally cannot _move_ without the entire world spinning and he was supposed to be at the interdepartmental meeting of all the senior Aurors preparing to meet with the ICW two hours ago.

He barely managed to be enough in his right mind to send an owl begging off before he collapsed in bed, sneezing and coughing, so the unexpected blaring of all of his defensive wards going off is most certainly _not_ welcome.

Percival gets as far as rolling – okay, falling – out of bed into a defensive stance, wand half at the ready, when Newt Scamander steamrolls through the door, suitcase in hand and coat billowing around him, and Percival gets as far as blinking dumbly up at him before Newt takes one look, raises an eyebrow, and manhandles him upright, chattering the whole way as he stripes the sheets, pours some weird potion into a cup that he shoves into Percival’s hand, starts a fire, and then manhandles Percival back down into his bed, which he will not admit at all feels much better with clean, non-sweat-stained sheets.

“What – how – Newt – ”

“Theseus told me your address,” Newt says, and shoves another potion at him. “He said you’d only miss the meeting if you were on death’s doorstep, and what do you know, he was right.”

Percival tries to puff up indignantly. He mostly fails. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Newt pointedly pokes him in the forehead, and ow, okay, yes, that really hurt, Percival’s not going to lie, and also it’s making the world spin again, and before he knows it he’s vomiting out what little he managed to choke down yesterday into a bucket Newt conjures hastily with a muttered word.

“Yes, I can totally see that you are a perfectly capable individual right now,” Newt says dryly over Percival’s heaves.

“How’d you get past the – ”

Newt beams. “I didn’t, that’s the best part,” he announces cheerfully, as though bulldozing past the layers and layers and layers of spells and charms and wards Percival has laid down all over his apartment is something that Percival would be proud of.

Which, okay, he kind of _is_ , but he’s still an Auror with a reputation to protect, damn it.

“Newt.”

“Okay, so I kind of cheated and came in the window,” Newt confesses, fiddling with the edge of his coat. “Your door melted my key.”

Well, at least _that_ spell works.

“I put it there to catch intruders,” Percival says between gulping down fresh water. “It wasn’t actually meant to let you inside, it just gets your magical residue so that I could track it down later.”

“The melting was a bit much.”

Percival shrugs. Sometimes, if you scare someone enough, it’s enough to dissuade them from trying a second time. Never let it be said that Percival doesn’t know when to utilize a flair of the dramatic. There’s a reason he enjoys engaging in wandless magic in front of his fellow Aurors, especially the junior ones.

Then the beginning part of Newt’s statement registers. “Wait – my _window_?”

“Yes, Betty agreed to give me a lift.”

Percival knows every single Auror in the department. And everyone in the support staff they interact with. He’s always had a good memory. There is no one who knows where Percival lives with the name of “Betty” which means – 

“Please tell me you did not break all of the laws of the Statute of Secrecy while you flew on whatever creature Betty is to get into my apartment.”

Newt fidgets. “I, um, used a disillusionment charm?”

Newt’s good at charms, Percival won’t argue with that. And his disillusionment ones are spectacular, because intent really does matter and if there’s one thing Newt never has trouble conjuring for, it’s the intent to hide, to be safe and silent and concealed from everything that might want to see him. 

“Fine, just – don’t let the niffler get out again.”

Another thing Newt has turned into a well-honed skill, apparently, is helping creatures that are sick get well again. Percival’s not really sure what is in the potions Newt keeps giving him, but after a few hours he already feels better, and he’s certainly well enough to take a shower and change his clothes and send a more formal apology for his absence to the Director. Within a day, most of his symptoms are gone entirely, so Percival sees no harm in trudging down into Newt’s suitcase to help with “feeding time”, whatever the hell that is.

“What,” Percival says flatly.

He’d known Newt could use a suitcase like this, and he’d known Newt would get a kick out of using the very same kind of magic once used to imprison creatures to rehabilitate and protect them, but still – Newt’s gone _way_ above what even Percival expected.

“Oh, yes, I did forget to mention the erumpent,” Newt shouts over his shoulder, which is not at all what Percival was objecting to.

“Please tell me you have permits,” Percival says faintly, because he’s getting a new headache just _looking_ at all the safety and legal violations that are going on, and he hasn’t even turned around to look at the sides or the back of this very, very, very big suitcase.

“Um.”

In the end, it turns out Percival gets far more comfortable with the creatures he so unwittingly helped Newt smuggle into the country for the conference, because Newt – of course – comes down with whatever Percival had and then so do half the creatures in the case, and long story short, Percival’s never wanted to know how difficult it is to extract oneself from a cuddle pile of mooncalves, but now he most certainly knows what will and will not work.

“I’ll owe you one,” Percival murmurs and conjures another blanket to cover Newt as he shivers in his sleep, just starting to recover from whatever sickness Percival gave him.

Newt doesn’t answer, just clutches the blanket closer and sniffles pathetically.

It’s okay, though. They’ve never needed to answer.

**5\. Newt**

Newt’s got the worst headache ever, he’s squished into the side of the cage by the bulk of the enormous poor thunderbird next to him, and his suitcase is currently barely resisting the poachers’ attempts to force it open (he suspects Dougal has recruited some other creatures to hold the door shut).

All in all, not Newt’s best day ever.

And yes, Theseus had warned him to wait for back-up, but they were also getting ready to ship the thunderbird off and Newt really couldn’t have waited while the ship went out of harbor without Newt trying at least once to save him. The poor bird can barely even muster the strength to make warning noises at Newt, due to his broken wings and crushed tail and what must be a week’s worth of food deprivation.

“I’m so sorry, I promise I won’t hurt you,” Newt mumbles as he struggles to get into a more comfortable position so he can talk more freely. “I just – let me see your wing, that’s a darling, come on – ”

It takes a lot of talking, but eventually the thunderbird seems to realize that if Newt’s in here with it, he’s not the same as the smugglers outside, so it finally lowers its beak long enough to let Newt start feeling out the damage to its wings. Luckily, most of it feels like clean breaks, although the way the thunderbird wheezes when he pets its flank is not at all promising or encouraging, and the festering sores aren’t that great either.

“I have a wonderful place for you,” Newt promises. “Once we get out – and we will, I sent my brother an owl, I think you’ll like him – so once we get out I think you’ll love it, there’s open air to fly and rocks to climb and sunny places to sleep – ”

“Oi! Pretty boy here thinks he’ll be getting anytime soon!”

Newt grimaces and then screams when the first curse hits him with a blast of pain. It’s not the Cruciatus Curse, but it definitely hurts and leaves Newt panting as the other poachers start to take notice.

“This – is – illegal,” Newt manages to say, because he’s _very_ well read on international law regarding magical beasts and creatures. “Thunderbirds are endangered, you need permits and top-level transportation to move them anywhere, not to mention permission from MACUSA – ‘”

The poacher snorts, rolling Newt’s wand into between his slimy fingers. “Yeah, like MACUSA cares. Everyone buys thunderbird quills, right? No one cares.”

Newt knows it’s a lie, and it’s not even a gut-instinct sort of thing. He’s read many of Percival’s infrequent letters bemoaning operations to shut down what seems like an endless stream of illegal breeding and trading and fighting rings, and although he doesn’t offer advice often, he always knows that Percival is willing to listen when he does. Percival cares, and Percival is only one senior Auror but he’s steadily climbing the ranks. 

“See, here, boy, you’re gonna tell us how to get into that case of yours,” the poacher says, after firing off yet another hex. 

“Or what?” Newt retorts, because those are his children down there, and he won’t give them up.

Plus, you know, he also badgered Theseus into helping him design and cast some of the more powerful protective spells and charms, and to be honest he’s not even sure if _he_ could break into his own case without permanently damaging some of the containment spells woven into the fabric of the expansion charms.

“Or,” the poacher says, “we’re going to have a _fun _time tonight with you.”__

There’s the slightest, faintest _pop_ of someone Apparating in, and Newt would have missed it entirely but for how the thunderbird hisses, so he’s only just caught on when, quite suddenly, Percival is striding into the light, frown firmly in place, casting and deflecting spells left and right and causing chaos everywhere. He always was a very proficient caster, but right now Newt can see everything on full display, how effortlessly he dodges and weaves and counterstrikes, utilizing everything around him as a weapon as well as the countless array of spells in his arsenal, and in ten minutes most of the poachers are groaning and bleeding on the floor.

Newt waves awkwardly. “Um, you’re not Theseus.”

Percival looks at him, then at the thunderbird, and then back at him, and sighs. “Theseus is in an undercover operation,” Percival says mildly. “The urgent letters were redirected to me. Is this really what you get up to in your spare time?”

“I don’t usually end up in cages?”

Even to his ears, it’s a weak defense and he knows it, but thankfully Percival only rolls his eyes once before he starts dismantling the cage and his hands are very gentle as he helps Newt to his feet and starts poking at the various bruises on his face.

“Hey, ow,” Newt whines.

“Oh, hold still,” Percival growls back, and Newt hadn’t known that he’d been studying wandless healing spells, but apparently he has because Newt’s bruises are now more like pennies than the mountains they were in between getting kidnapped and beaten and shoved in a cell and then hexed for answers. It’s actually a relief, to have the pain fade away so he can focus on the very nervous thunderbird in front of them.

At least Percival has the good sense not to make startling movements as Newt approaches him.

Eventually, after a great deal of coaxing and some fast, on the spot healing, the thunderbird eventually deigns to lower its proud beak and vanish into his suitcase, and Newt clicks it shut with a sigh of relief, and startles and nearly falls over because Percival is still there, arms crossed moodily and wand sticking out of his pocket.

“What?”

“You went in with no plan and no backup.”

“I couldn’t just wait, Frank needed me.”

Percival glares. “Plan, Newt, you need a plan, I know Theseus taught you the rudimentary skills of forming a plan.”

And, okay, yes he had, but those lectures had been really boring, in Newt’s defense, and also everything seems to have worked out fairly well for him anyways.

Percival seems to know exactly where his mind is going, though, since he pinches his nose and looks like a headache is coming on, even though Newt knows very well that if Percival was truly ill he would have called for back-up to help instead of charging in on his own. The only reason Percival did come in on his own is because he knew he could handle it.

“I can’t – you can’t rely on me or Theseus to save you every time.”

“I know, I know.”

“Just. Get home, I’ll clean up here,” Percival sighs, and makes shooing motions when Newt hesitates. “What?”

“Well, there might be more creatures here that – ”

“Merlin’s beard, just follow me.”

The poachers, it turns out, _are_ harboring more creatures. Newt walks away with a unicorn, a pile of occamy eggs, another mooncalf, and a few dozen other creatures after successfully annoying Percival into letting him take care of them, although the presence of Untradables does allow Percival to gleefully start reading the poachers their rights and summoning more Aurors to the scene, at which point Newt gracefully bows out.

“I’ll owe you one,” Newt says, smiling faintly, and Percival touches his shoulder very gently before he moves over to speak to his fellow Aurors.

**6\. Percival**

The next time Percival meets Newt, Newt barely has time to say hello before Percival snaps at him.

He’s not in a good mood, okay? He’s got six different people sending him owls every single damn day demanding to know who he plans to marry to “carry on the family name” and he only gives it a day and a half before they start finding him here too, so in his defense he’s cranky and sleep-deprived and rather done with the entire world at the moment. 

Newt blinks at him again, but thankfully he’s either too tired or too used to Aurors at this point to take true offense. Finally he just shrugs and says, “Toast or cereal?”

Percival takes the toast, because why the hell not.

Newt patiently waits through each furious chew of bread, and something in his studied patience slowly unravel the burning knot of tension in Percival’s chest in a way talking never could. He knows Newt is merely treating him like an angry, defensive animal, and that sort of pisses him off, but it’s a distant fury, because right now, the silence does help. He knows Newt will wait him out and not judge him for needing time, and somehow it’s exactly what he needs.

“I. My parents. They left a will.”

“Okay.”

“They’re demanding a marriage or the entire estate moves into a trust until a child is born.”

“ . . . . . . . . Okay.”

“I just.” Percival sighs and wipes away some stray crumbs. Now his anger is starting to collapse, leaving behind only defeat and resignation. “My sister, she’s far too young to get married, but even between the two of us the money’s not enough. I can’t let her face that.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t leave an arranged marriage.”

Percival laughs. “Oh. Oh, they did. Some pureblood lady out west. Luckily for me, she was already trying to elope so I just closed my eyes and went back to sleep and that was the end of that.”

Newt dunks a biscuit into his milk, studying Percival eyes so keen he almost wants to flinch back. Newt’s terrible at social convention, even Percival acknowledges this and he’s only met the man once, but he’s so sweetly terrible, really, that all Percival wants to do is just hug him and cast every shield spell he knows. And he has a habit, a glorious and terrible habit, of saying things Percival really doesn’t want to hear, although to be fair, most of the time they came in the form of Theseus’s letters.

“Does it need to be a woman? Or just a marriage?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t study the will that in depth,” Percival mutters. “They just wanted a child.” And yeah, Percival maybe wants a child too someday, in the future. Right now he’s the deputy Director of Magical Security, and the pay isn’t that bad but the hours suck and he’s just not ready, at all, to add a child or a partner to that kind of life. 

And then Newt turns his world absolutely upside down. “Why not me?”

Percival drops his cup.

“Theseus would murder me,” is the first thing he manages to force out between faint feeling that numbs his lips.

Newt shrugs. “You’re not the only one with part of an inheritance that weighs on a good marriage,” he murmurs, and Percival winces. Newt’s parents are very nice, but his grandparents are pureblood snobs through and through, and he can imagine just how much weight they’ve been putting on Newt. Theseus, at least, gets to claim being an Auror makes it hard to get a date – but he’s also halfway through wooing a fellow Auror, so he’s already off the hook.

“Newt,” Percival says gently. “You’re very sweet for offering, but – but we’re just friends. I didn’t come to you asking you to save me. That’s not how friendships work.”

He knows Newt will read his unspoken words: _I will never use you the way_ she _did._

“I know I’m not, you know. The easiest person to get along with. But. I thought . . . I thought I’d offer.”

Newt is not very good at being touchy-feely. Neither is Percival, for that matter. But he knows, through countless lectures and times spent watching Newt gentle new creatures, that touch is important. Touch demonstrates intent and trust and companionship, so Percival lets his slow approach and gentle hug communicate what sentiment Newt would never believe if Percival used words alone.

“You, Newt Scamander,” Percival says quietly, “are amazing. You’re a lovely, sweet, and amazing person, and I’m honored to have known you. I just don’t know if you understand how much you’d be giving up, tying yourself to me.”

Divorces can happen in the Wizarding world. They’re still pretty rare though. Breaking the bonds laid down by magical marriages are rather difficult.

Newt sniffles against his chest. “I travel a lot.”

“I’m never home on time.”

“I spend a lot of time caring after creatures that people think are dangerous or illegal.”

“I spend a lot of time dealing with the dregs of society.”

“I don’t do well with, you know. People.”

“There are plenty of days where I come home and don’t want to talk to anyone else ever again.”

They get married at sunset, in a quiet, simple ceremony. They don’t bother with rings, as a ring would hinder Newt in caring for his creatures and likely cause just as much problems for Percival as he goes about on Auror business, and settle inside for simple bonding spells on their wrists, which Newt hides with powerful disillusionment spells. Afterwards they order in some food after Newt’s attempt at a baking spell goes rather wrong, feed and cuddle with the animals, and fall asleep in Newt’s workshop, wrapped in thick blankets.

Percival, who feels lighter and happier in ways he can’t quite describe, kisses Newt on the forehead and says, “I’ll owe you one.”

**7\. Newt & Percival**

To be fair, the first time Newt sees Grindelwald wearing his husband’s face, he doesn’t actually notice a difference either. This he attributes to the fact that he’s never actually been inside MACUSA, excepting brief visits to the door to meet his brother on the way out of meetings. Percival has always procured his wand permits and creature exceptions for him, and they’ve never really talked about what to do if Newt was ever in MACUSA and standing in front of him. So when Percival barely looks at him, he just shrugs and plays along.

When not-Percival tries to arrest him though, Newt shivers all over because maybe they’ve only been married for five years but he knows _exactly_ what Percival’s magic feels like, and this is most definitely not it.

Percival’s magic is warm and gentle, like a comforting bath. This magic is a shock to the system, as though someone had dunked him in an ice cold pond.

And, well, Newt’s not stupid. There are plenty of ways to take on his husband’s face, and Newt – after having an Auror for a father, a brother, a sister-in-law, and a husband – is more than well aware of each and every single method, but more importantly, he’s also intimately familiar with the best ways to remove those disguises.

So when an Auror demands for Newt to remove some of the protective spells that lace the case shut, Newt does the reasonable thing and tells them to add a simple _revelio_ to the mix.

From there, the plan works perfectly.

Over the years, the case has gained many more habitants that need protection, and Newt’s added to the layers of protection as he goes. Even Percival has added some of his own spells, things he picks up as an Auror, and the case is powerfully protected. As expected, the Revelio charm bounces right off the case, rebounds off the floor, and hits a smirking not-Percival in the face before he can so much as widen his eyes.

In the next minute, the world becomes very, very, _very_ noisy, as not-Percival’s face melts away to reveal a furious Grindelwald, and suddenly the Aurors are far less interested in holding down Newt and Tina and Jacob as they are Stunning, binding, and hexing the hell out of the darkest wizard of their time.

When it’s over, President Picquery gives him a look. “You did that on purpose.”

It’s not a question, but Newt figures that she wants an answer regardless. He clicks his case shut and retrieves his wand, because he’s damn well not being left behind while searching for his husband, who could be who knows where and in who knows what condition, since Grindelwald had only started laughing mockingly when Tina had demanded the answers from him.

“I can’t claim to know everything about Percival, ma’am,” Newt says politely, “but I definitely know what my own husband’s magic feels like.”

The second uproar is far less gratifying than the first.

* * *

When Percival wakes up and sees a different ceiling than the dark, blood splattered one of his prison for the first time in over three months, his first thought is, _I’m going to owe Newt the biggest IOU ever._

His second thought is for Grindelwald, and it’s that thought that sends him bolt upright in bed, panicked and wheezing through the pain that flashes all over his body.

“Director Graves!” Seraphina barks, and a distant part of Percival obeys that voice automatically, instinct after so long working with her, and he pauses midway through attempting to Apparate straight to MACUSA to spill the beans and ensure Grindelwald is definitely behind bars and completely secured.

“Madam President,” he replies after a long moment. 

Seraphina and the other Aurors around him don’t make eye contact. He understands their shame, because even though most of him understands – Grindelwald is extremely powerful and a great actor, and from his weekly gloating sessions as he laid down hexes and curses to watch Percival scream until his voice gave out, Percival had gleaned that Grindelwald hadn’t exactly been shy with Imperius curses or demotions and department shuffling to get his way – a small part of him demands justice, stinging and burning and uncoiling like a giant serpent in his chest, angry that _no one_ noticed for over three months as he was tortured and bled in his own house by his own wand.

“How did you find out?”

Seraphina clears her throat. “You have your . . . husband to thank for that.”

Her tone of voice tells Percival in no uncertain terms that this will mean a stern talking to is in his future, but he just shrugs. He’s the Director of Magical Security and the head Auror; he’s entitled to his own private life, and in fact, keeping Newt a secret seems to have turned out to be a good thing, as not even Grindelwald could have used Newt against him since he had no idea.

Grindelwald’s good with Imperius and Legilimency. 

Percival is stubborn, though, and he would never give up Newt, not for anything. He swore an oath to protect Newt no matter what, and if Grindelwald had decided to upgrade from the Cruciatus Curse to the Killing Curse, Percival would have happily died knowing Newt would remain undiscovered in the buried compartments of the fortress of his mind.

“How much damage did he do?” Percival asks instead, because it’s a question that needs answering. He’d protected what secrets he could, but towards the end it started getting blurry exactly what memories Grindelwald was prying out of his head.

“The Healers said you’re not ready for that kind of stress.”

“I’ve been stressed already. Tell me.”

And his tone isn’t really right for the Director of Magical Security talking to the President of MACUSA, but Seraphina damn well remembers what he was like in school, so she just sighs and crosses her legs and starts talking. Each thwarted effort – questions Percival remembers dodging and screaming over – makes him smile; each breach of security makes him sag and withdraw. Finally the story ends and Percival just stares blankly at the ceiling, wondering what in the name of Merlin’s beard he’s supposed to do know to fix all of the things that went wrong in his absence.

“Percival,” Seraphina murmurs, “it isn’t your fault.”

“I’m the Director of Magical Security. I took an oath. I took a lot of oaths.” 

She remains unmoved, with the same steadfast clarity that won her the votes necessary to topple her opponents and objectors to lead MACUSA. “He had you tortured for nearly four months on a daily basis. For a long time, the Healers weren’t sure you were going to survive. You lost a lot of muscle and countless amounts of blood, and it’s going to be a long time until the tremors from the Cruciatus Curse stop – if they ever do. Yet MACUSA is still standing. I think that’s a credit to you.”

“I don’t think – ”

“You know my schedule and every weakness of my personal guard. Yet here I am, still standing, uninjured and free from any Imperius curse. _You did your best, Percival,_ and anyone who says otherwise is going to answer to me.”

After that, all he can say is a hoarse, “Thank you, Madam President.”

Seraphina inclines her head, and thankfully ignores the tears in his eyes to instead send Newt in.

And by Merlin, he’s avoiding thinking of Newt as much as possible during his months in captivity, not willing to give Grindelwald even the slightest extra advantage than he already had, but now that Newt is in front of him – beautiful, lovely, sweet, amazing, wonderful, _safe_ Newt – he can’t help the tears or the kisses or the way he clutches at him like a dying man.

Newt, as it turns out, is crying too anyways.

“They didn’t know,” he sobs wetly into Percival’s neck, fingers clawing at his back. “They didn’t know – they said you might die – Percy, they call me in for the final goodbye – ”

“Shh, shh, shhhhh,” Percival says, because it’s all he can say. “I’m alive, I’m here, I’m safe, I’m – thanks to you, I’m here, Newt, I’m here.”

A few more crying sessions later, Newt succumbs to sleep and Percival, achy and exhausted and drooping but revitalized by the knowledge that Newt is safe, his creatures are safe, Seraphina is safe, and MACUSA is safe, is coherent enough to notice Tina hovering at the doorway with an awkward expression on her face.

“Auror Goldstein,” he says with a tilt of his head.

“Ex-Auror,” she correctly, looking embarrassed as she scurries in and settles in a chair.

Ah, yes, the incident with the No-Maj woman. “Given that your demotion was given by Grindelwald and not me,” he says mildly, “I’ll have to review it before it becomes permanent. I must admit that my trust in his judgment is sorely lacking at the moment.”

That, at least, gets a fleeting smile out of her. That’s good. He always had admired her spine of steel; it’s why he approved her coming into his department in the first place. 

“How long have you and Newt, um, been . . .”

Percival presses his hand to Newt’s skin, watching the bonding spell flare up on his wrist and breathing another sigh of relief over the steady heartbeat that thrums through him. “Almost five years now.” And, oh, have things have changed since then. Now Percival’s a Director in his own right, powerful and respected, and Newt’s about to be a famous figure too. Soon the reasons they made this marriage won’t stand anymore, but jealously and selfishness are yet more things Percival is aware of as his weaknesses. He doesn’t want to give this bright-eyed, shining human being up.

“Why did you never – ”

“Are you saying that every Auror needed to know about my private life, Miss Goldstein?”

“Ah . . .”

“It was a marriage of convenience,” Percival explains eventually, once the instinctual defensiveness has died down somewhat. “We were both under immense pressure to make good marriages. It gave me the freedom to focus on my career, and it gave Newt the freedom to move freely through America and the rest of the world. We were happy with that.”

He doesn’t talk about the ring he’s got hiding at the bottom of an old chest of his school things or the way he catches himself staring at Newt’s lips sometimes or how much he misses him, sometimes, but Tina seems to guess all of that regardless.

“You really should tell him, sir,” she urges earnestly, as earnestly as she’d once stood before him as a recruit fresh out of Ilvermorny. 

“And you really should get home,” Percival replies. “Don’t think I can’t see the way you’re shaking. Is that your third or fourth dose of Energizing Potion? Hmm, no, fifth, is it? Go home, Auror Goldstein. You’re little use to me half-dead on your feet. This report will get written eventually, and I imagine there are still lots of addendums that will need to be made once we get around to damage control.”

“Tell him that you love him, sir.”

Percival feels no regrets about waving his hand and shutting the door after her with a pointed slam.

He still yelps when Newt rolls over and pokes him in the chest. 

“You old sap,” Newt says.

“I’m hardly old.”

Newt gives a great big sigh and levers himself up, until Percival’s back in the fixed limelight of those beautiful eyes, as piercing as they were the first time they saw into the depths of Percival’s soul, and he swallows hard but he can’t turn away, he can’t look away, he _can’t_ , not without tearing his heart out in the process.

“Hey,” Newt says, soft and gentle like the first time they said hello, “I love you too.”

And then there is markedly less talking and more crying and kissing, but Percival thinks it’s excused.

* * *

Later, under the cover of blankets and some hastily constructed defensive spells, Percival will kiss his husband and say, “I owe you one.”

“I thought we dispensed with that system.”

“No, it was definitely my turn to save you.”

“Percival,” Newt will say, eyes sparkling, “we saved each other.”

And, well. He can’t argue with that.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first foray into Gramander, and it probably won't be last so hopefully this first attempt is somewhat palatable :D Let me know in the comments below or feel free to wander over and talk to me on [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com) although I must warn you that I'm usually a big Hannigram shipper, so most of my blog is currently Hannibal, Hannibal, and more Hannibal.
> 
> Also, it's still Elle's fault. And Percival's, because this was supposed to be like 2,000-3,000 words but Percival would not shut the f up.


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